Page 9 of Quiet Chaos

“I don’t have a lot of choices, Olivia. My money is dwindling since I paid a few bills. I can either go back to the convent orjoin Christoff. I’m not done exploring. Besides, I won’t find a husband at the convent. Christoff is a good choice. He’ll take care of me.”

“Then I wish you well. Let’s try to keep in touch.”

We end our call. Her last words feel like the end of our friendship. Like I told her, I want to see more of the world. I’m not ready to go back to the convent. Christoff will introduce me to new places and experiences. We’ll be happy. I’ll be happy. An odd feeling leaks into my bones. Am I trying to convince myself of happiness?

4

“If I cannot drink Bourbon and smoke cigarettes in heaven than I shall not go.” Mark Twain

Cade - April 2019

I wake before my alarm, but Armstrong refuses to budge. The house is eerily quiet and warm. It’s been almost two years since my dad moved in. In the kitchen, I pour a cup of coffee and decide to check on him. His bedroom door is ajar, so I push it open with my finger. Everything is in its place as I glance around the room, even my dad’s sleeping form. Except he’s not sleeping. There’s no rise and fall of his chest. I walk over to the side of the bed, place my hand by his face, and, as suspected, there’s no breath.

I sit on the edge of the bed, looking at the father who became a stranger to me. He no longer resembles the larger-than-life dad who took us on vacations. Who made my mother squeal with laughter as he tickled and kissed her. Who woke early for work, making sure to be home for dinner. Who missed none of my school activities. That’s who he was when mom was alive. Afterwards, there were no more vacations. Laughter faded, and work became a refuge for him along with the bottle.

Without realizing it, I release the breath I was holding. Armstrong must sense something because he wanders into the room. He places his front paws on the bed, nudges my dad, and whines.

My fingers brush along the side of my goatee, and then rest on top of Armstrong’s head. “I know, boy. I’m gonna miss him, too.”

The first person I call is Reed, my best friend since childhood, and Vice President of my club, Bourbon Riders. I figure the coroner can wait a couple more minutes, not knowing when he passed.

“What’s up, QC?”

“Dad’s gone.”

I hear him spit outfuckseveral times before saying, “I’ll be right over.”

Even though he can’t see me, I shrug when I say, “No need.”

“I need, Brother. We’ll be there in a few.”

I hang up and call 911, letting the dispatcher know of my dad’s alcoholism. Reed and Patsy, his wife, arrive just as I’m hanging up with emergency.

Patsy wraps her arms around my waist, and says, “I’m so sorry, Cade,” while Reed pats my back.

We walk into the kitchen where Patsy pours us all a cup of coffee. She offers to make breakfast, but the thought of food doesn’t sit well with me. I wrap my hands around my mug, staring at the table. It’s not like I didn’t expect this to happen. My father’s heart and mind gave up a long time ago. It was only a matter of time before his body did. It still didn’t make it better. Now both of my parents are gone. The only consolation is that my dad’s death didn’t come close to what my mom’s death did to me.

They finally remove my father’s body from the house. By now, my brothers fill the entire kitchen and living room. Double Down, Nipples, and Bruiser brought cases of beer. I supply a bottle of bourbon. Boo, Reed’s club name, and Patsy have ordered some food. All brothers in attendance stand around with beers in hand as stories spill from them about my dad.

Since Reed and I are childhood friends, he has the most stories to share. “I remember a time when we were nine-years old. QC and I rode our dirt bikes off a small ridge. It was about six feet high.”

He looks at me. “Remember that, QC?” I tick my chin to him.

“I’m putting on all my gear and pads, serious about the jump, knowing I could break a leg. While I’m still padding up, QC goes flying over the ridge, front tire upwards and when he hits the ground, the back tire pops, flipping him off the bike. He’s in mid-air, laughing. Fucking laughing. He lands on his side with a thud and a shout. I rode so fast to get his dad. Charlie walks out, chest and biceps bulging, and when I told him what happened, he shook his head and said, “Did he at least clear the ridge?”

Everyone bursts out laughing. A reminiscent smile takes over my face, shaking my head along with it. Stories about my dad from different times in my life circulate the room. Each story prompts us to hold our drinks up and toast to him. Numbness chokes away nerves like a twisted vine. My eyes become foggy, and my body attaches to the chair. I focus on the oak kitchen table, picking at some chipped areas. Armstrong’s head lies on my lap. I’m sure he feels the loneliness.

Tabasco, Crow, and Boulder toss out the garbage. From my peripheral, I can see Patsy staring at me. She’s a great person and caring. Too caring for my comfort, so I avoid making eye contact.

It’s nightfall and I find myself on the couch. I don’t remember how I got here. Again, I notice the house is warm and quiet. Armstrong is laying at the foot of the couch. When he sees me awake, he stands, places his head on my chest, and whines. I let him out before we both go to bed, turn off all the lights, and head upstairs.

***

Days after my dad’s passing, I had a small memorial for him. It didn’t surprise me how many people showed to give their condolences. My dad might have lost his way, but it didn’t change the fact that people liked him and his business. Even as a drunk, he was funny and likeable. My brothers stood in the back as to avoid intimidating everyone else. Reed lounged by my side as a conveyor belt of handshakes andI’m sorryscirculated. Some even remembered my mom and had to add in more condolences and stories. A cluster fuck of a day. All it did was remind me of how alone I am now. Yeah, I have my brothers, who I consider family. But this is mom and dad I’m talking about. For many years, it was them and me. No one else mattered. My mom’s parents disowned her for marrying my dad, and my dad’s parents were crackheads. No love lost.

Today, we’re doing a run in honor of my dad. We’re heading to Mount Nebo, looping around and taking a break at Devil’s Kitchen. It’s where we tossed my mom’s ashes. She wanted to drift over the red rock. I figure my dad will want to be with her again.

Tucking his ashes into my saddlebag, I rev up my bike, my brothers following suit, and we hit the road. It’s going to be a long day, but nothing compares to a ride. I won’t need to think or make decisions, I just take in the open road and enjoy the scenery.

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